


we're doing fine, we're doing nothing at all

by bad_pheasants



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain Marvel (2019), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alcohol (Offscreen), Arm-Wrestling (Offscreen), Canon Divergence, F/F, Gals being pals, Kissing, Long Walks Late Nights, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:04:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27110113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bad_pheasants/pseuds/bad_pheasants
Summary: Carol has managed to end up in Peggy's New York City. As it turns out, this was exactly the distraction Peggy needed.
Relationships: Peggy Carter/Carol Danvers
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22
Collections: Femslash Exchange 2020





	we're doing fine, we're doing nothing at all

**Author's Note:**

  * For [team_turtleneck](https://archiveofourown.org/users/team_turtleneck/gifts).



> Title from, yep, "Hands Down", by Dashboard Confessional. Sorry not sorry?
> 
> I rewatched Agent Carter for this and I was struck by how *human* and vulnerable Peggy was in the first season, compared to her appearance in Captain America. Thanks again for giving me the opportunity to write her and remember how much I adore her.

“Sorry about all that back there.” 

Carol’s tone is mildly apologetic, but her gait is more of a saunter. Not remotely loosened by all the bourbon their unfortunate compatriot back at the bar good-naturedly bought them. 

But there’s something… insouciant, to her movements. A studied casualness. Peggy wonders if alcohol even affects Carol at all, briefly. 

Either way, her gait is not the gait of someone even remotely sorry. 

Around them, New York glows a muted yellow as they walk. It’s the small hours of the morning, but the light is multiplied by the reflection from the puddles on the pavement. The sky overhead is low and ominous, but for now, the thunder—and the rain—is faint and far away. 

“You’re not.” Peggy replies dryly. “But there’s no need for you to be. I quite enjoyed the show.” She bites her cheek momentarily as she hears herself, but continues walking and keeps her smile in place. No reason Carol would think she meant… _that_. She meant it as a perfectly innocent compliment anyways. Carol’s showmanship is enviable. 

And it speaks volumes of her skill with her abilities that she was able to arm-wrestle someone without superpowers so convincingly, when Peggy has seen her lift entire cars with her bare hands. 

Bless Miriam’s heart, but Peggy _is_ familiar with Freud.

There’s something lean and canny about Carol, though. She’s cat-like, almost, in the way she holds herself, limbs sprawled out slightly. She somehow manages to simultaneously fly completely under the radar and draw the eye with her casual, studied transgressiveness. 

It starts a flicker in Peggy’s gut. Like a switch flipped and the lights coming up in response. 

She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t considered it. 

But Carol hasn’t given her any hint that Peggy can recognize that the military she served in sixty years from now has anything like the informal sorority of women _like her_ that Peggy found. 

“Sneaky really isn’t my thing.” Carol sounds amused next to her. Peggy risks a glance over, and finds her watching the pavement in front of her feet with a wry half-smirk. 

“I don’t think you drew any undue attention. Your performance was quite convincing. Besides, it’s not like he’s going to go bragging about how he lost to a woman. That’s what I’d be more worried about.” She sighs. “That might be the closest thing I’ve had to entertainment in a while, actually.” 

She looks back over at her companion and finds Carol’s half-smirk widening into something like a genuine smile. “Right? There’s something so pure about the look on their face. Where I’m from, they just get mad and call you a lesbian. Here, they’re too surprised.” Her spine straightens, and her eyes flash over to Peggy’s, mirth entirely evaporated from her body for a fraction of a second. 

Suddenly, Peggy’s heart is beating faster. 

Carol continues. “Anyways. Thanks for indulging. You don’t strike me as the kind of person who puts up with much showboating.” 

“Oh, I like it plenty on other people. Takes eyes away from me. And trust me, _your_ showboating has nothing on Howard Stark.” 

Carol’s silent for a few moments. Then she shakes her head. “You’re as badass as they said.” 

One corner of Peggy’s mouth twitches upward. “Pardon?” 

Carol is correct: Sneaky is not “her thing”. It’s made this whole affair—Carol being stuck almost half a century prior to her own birth, the sudden appearance of someone in New York with _very_ flashy abilities, having to house and hide said person with flashy abilities while Howard works on a solution—at least somewhat entertaining. Beyond the dubious “entertainment” of hiding Carol from her own co-workers—because of course they have to be looking for Carol, too. 

Extracting unimportant information from Carol isn’t something Peggy should enjoy so much, but Carol makes it so easy sometimes. 

“Shit. Sorry. Spoilers. Liquor talking.” 

“So you _are_ affected by alcohol.” Peggy's still not sure what "spoilers" means, exactly, but she knows an opening for information when she sees one.

“Not the Earth kind. Some alien liquors, but those aren’t alcohol-based. Anything the Asgardians can get drunk on.” 

“So that wasn’t the liquor talking?” Putting aside “Asgardian” for the moment. 

“Victory. It was definitely the victory talking.” 

“Ah. I see.” It would be, she thinks, _more normal_ of her to be entertained by watching a movie, instead of this. 

Watching Carol squirm is so much more _fun_ , though. 

They talk as they walk until they reach the safehouse. Peggy feels exposed somehow the whole way there, a little off-balance. Nothing she can’t handle, but… 

It doesn’t happen often, the heat in Peggy’s gut. Infrequently enough that she could mistake it for loneliness, maybe, or jealousy, or some fear of replacement or irrelevance—it’s unfair, but perhaps being so isolated at the SSR has had more affect on her than she’d like to admit. 

But the mission—Peggy’s mission—hasn’t changed. In fact, it’s been remarkably steady in the face of everything. If anything, the world she’s immersed in day-to-day is the one that feels absurd, arbitrary. Carol is like a reminder that there _is_ a reality beyond… all this. 

That sidelong, almost panicked glance after Carol said that word. 

She thought she’d managed to be covert about it. She wasn’t _that_ off-balance. 

But suddenly they’re in the safehouse, and it’s time for Peggy to go (Carol doesn’t need to be babysat while she’s sleeping), and Carol is somehow just inside her personal space enough that it makes Peggy’s skin prickle like an electrical charge is passing through it. Carol is _close_ , and her body is humming and alive in a way she’s only felt from one other person. 

It’s not the height of romance, maybe, the slightly wide-eyed question in Carol’s eyes as her hand drifts up to Peggy’s cheek. But it’s _right_. _Carol_ is right. 

She’s right. 

Peggy’s mouth is warm and buzzing when she finally manages to pull away, like Carol passed some of that strange electric-blue energy that she generates into her through that kiss. Her tongue—her whole body—feels heavy, and all she wants is to press her mouth back to Carol’s and let herself sink into it again. It takes nearly every bit of self-control she has to pull away. Suddenly, she’s reminded how long it’s been since she had anything like this. 

“It would be highly inappropriate for me to engage in a relationship with a subordinate.” She plays her one remaining card as she fumbles for her faculties. 

Carol’s eyes fly open. Her brow furrows, and her eyes search Peggy’s, uncomprehending. It takes almost five whole seconds, by Peggy’s count. Then, the realization dawns on her face. “Wait, no—“ 

Peggy is pulling away, a smile spreading on her face. 

Meanwhile, Carol has managed to locate her tongue. “I don’t work for SHIELD! I-I’m in the Air Force! You’re retired—!”

It’s enough to make Peggy’s brain clank to life, finally, like some kind of ancient boiler-powered industrial machine—and have her melt back into Carol.

“Spoilers.” She murmurs. 

She's still not precisely sure what it means, but she’s picked up enough to know that as “spoilers” go—and who knows with time travel, anyways—her retirement is probably a good one.


End file.
